


Masks

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: The masks were infectious. He was too late for everyone else, but he would not let them infect Damian too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a plane and in the middle of the night in airports. Poorly edited on a lunch break. I need so much sleep it’s silly. I meant for this to be much more metaphorical but, oops. Hahahaha.

There was a rap of knuckles on the window, and Dick found himself already smiling as he moved to let his guest in.

"You're early." Dick hummed, shoving the pane upwards, watching Robin scramble through.

"I'm _prompt_. There's a difference." Damian clarified. "But I was finishing up a case with Superboy nearby. Seemed a waste to go all the way home and come back later."

"That's true." Dick admitted, pushing the window closed, spinning towards the room and gesturing towards the sofa. "You hungry? I don't have much but I'll make you something. Go make yourself comfortable."

He turned away before Damian responded, but assumed he gave his typical silent nod. He hummed as he went into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for easy treats. After a moment, he heard Damian sit down on the couch.

He found trail mix, and felt a welling of pride at himself in his own chest. Trail mix was the ultimate Damian food, in his opinion. Fruits, nuts, all that healthy stuff - with just a pinch of chocolate. Small bites he can graze, or do the silly kid tricks with, while he worked just as tiredly as his dad to save a city he was slowly starting to refer to as _home_ \- but still filling enough that Dick didn't have to worry.

But when he twisted back towards the room, he couldn't help but frown. Dick had told him to get comfortable - to himself that meant take your shoes off. In Damian's case, maybe lose the cape and mask too, at least.

But the child was in full uniform still, sitting rigidly on the sofa, fists tight and battle ready as they sat against his legs.

And it felt...wrong.

"Damian?" He asked softly. Damian's face scrunched in confusion as he looked up at him. "You okay?"

"...Yes?" Damian answered, though was clearly unsure why he had to. "Are _you_?"

But Dick wasn't sure what to say. Because he didn't know why this sight worried him so.

Maybe because he's been having such mental crises lately about his family in this life, about being a vigilante in general himself. Maybe it's because Damian was so young, and had already been through so much, and they all kept failing him _more_ as he got older. Maybe it was because Dick knew Damian felt safest with him, but even now that didn't let the boy feel safe _enough_.

But no. That wasn't it, he realized.

It was because of Bruce.

Because Batman had consumed Bruce. Bruce barely existed anymore, and as much as Dick loved him, he'd known that since he was a child. Since before he made Robin. The cowl was the real man, and Bruce was the mask. Bruce was the ghost, had died when he was eight.

And these masks had taken over the others too. Jason, Tim, Barbara. They weren't _them_ without them. Dick never noticed until it was too late, but soon they'd probably be just as bad as Bruce. Maybe even worse. Maybe they wouldn't exist outside the masks at all.

And the same was happening to their youngest too.

He felt safer in the mask. Hated himself so much he'd rather be a faceless hero than look at himself. And the mask not only hid his face, but any tells to his emotions too. His needs, his traumas, his vulnerabilities, his weaknesses. He was a good kid with all of those things of course - a _great_ kid, Dick knew. But he could hide that behind that mask. Be mysterious, an urban legend, behind that uniform. Damian could disappear, fade from existence, just like he always wanted.

Just like Bruce. Just like Tim, and everyone else.

Dick had survived this, but barely. It was part of his funk now. But with his friends, with Kory and Roy and Donna - and even family like Cassandra and Damian himself - he'd survived the masks. He was still more Dick than Nightwing. Than a former spy, Batman and Robin.

He was still _Dick_.

And he'd already lost Damian. More than once, even. He wouldn't lose him again, not even to _Robin_.

"...Grayson?" Damian pushed, though remained on the couch. Dick blinked, but still didn't say anything. Instead moved forward, placing the bowl on the coffee table as he knelt in front of his brother, staring worriedly up at him. "...What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Dick smiled awkwardly, lifting his hands. "...May I?"

Damian glanced between his hands and gave an indifferent shrug. Dick took that as a yes enough, reached up and carefully peeled the green mask away from Damian's face. Exposed the bleary sea green eyes it hid, along with the dark shadows underneath them.

"Satisfied?" Damian droned sarcastically, keeping Dick's gaze nonetheless. "It's actually me under here."

Dick didn't smile at the barb, though. Focused on the lowered eyelids, Damian's rapid blinks to clear his misty eyes.

"...Damian, when was the last time you slept?" Dick asked instead. "Or even took a night off from all this? Went and saw a movie or something?"

Damian raised an eyebrow. "What does that matter?"

"Damian, please."

There was a moment of silence as Damian held out, but eventually he huffed a sigh. Looked away.

"A few days ago." He glanced back. "What? This was a large case. If it makes you feel better, Jon hasn't slept either. It's not just _me_ this time. And Father has been awake _much_ longer, so..."

Dick made a mental note to call Lois in a few minutes.

"As for days off," Damian hummed. "Well. What do you think I'm doing _here_?"

And that was right. They'd made these plans months ago. The circus was in town, and he'd invited Damian to go to the show with him. The kid had agreed to, even with the stipulation that he'd stay the night in this tiny, old apartment.

"Damian..."

"Oh, save the lecture. I'm too _tired_ to-" He cut himself off, realizing his mistake. Still, though, he was his father's son, and ignoring the obvious was his specialty. "...I don't want to hear it. If that was your plan for my coming here to spend _time_ with you, then I'll just go home."

"No, no, I wasn't." And Dick found himself grabbing Damian's hands and clinging to them as if his life depended on it. And hey - maybe it did.

Regardless, no more masks. No drowning in the cape. No disappearing identities for urban legends and silly monikers.

Not for this little boy.

"I was just going to ask." He smiled, even as Damian stared down at their hands. "Would you be heartbroken if we skipped the circus?"

Damian's eyes flew up in alarm. "But... _you wanted_ to go."

"Sure I did." Dick laughed. And his heart swelled a little at the thought - Damian couldn't care less about the circus. Was only here because Dick wanted to go and wanted to take Damian, and despite the preconceived notion, Damian cared _tremendously_ about things like that. "And now I want to order a pizza and watch crappy movies with you all night."

And despite his want - near _need_ \- to put Dick's happiness above his own, he saw Damian slump in relief.

"...I don't need a rest." Damian whispered. "I can still go to the show with you. I'll just...drink some coffee."

"You're thirteen. You don't need coffee." Dick grinned, squeezing Damian's hands. "What you need is to be cuddled in a blanket, junk food, and a night to just be _Damian_."

And just like Dick feared, Damian looked up at him, ocean eyes nervous, and whispered, "And what if I like being Robin more?"

"Robin's lame as hell. I don't want to hang out with him." Dick countered. "I want to hang out with my super cool little brother Damian, who I don't see enough and am very sorry about that."

Damian looked away, embarrassed. "...I didn't bring anything to sleep in."

Because he was going to go on another patrol after the show, and just so happen to take all night to do so.

Good thing he and Bruce taught him to break promises at such an early age.

"You know I keep clothes for all you siblings in the hall closet. Your shelf is the third down. Sorry you share it with Tim. Grab yourself some sweats, I'll find the number for the pizza place."

Damian hesitated as Dick drew his hands back, then nodded and scurried away. Dick laughed, shook his head, and stood, pulling out his phone to call Lois.

(Lois, of course, already knew her heroic son's state, and was in the process of calling Bruce to inform him of Damian's. She had the exact same worry as Dick, and had decided to have a calm, no-costume family night herself, dragging Clark back from the Watchtower with a well-placed, borderline-threatening phone call.)

When he'd finished his call, Damian was reemerging from his room, in an oversized hoody (an old one of Dick's) and oversized sweatpants (a hand-me-down from Jason's, which were originally a hand-me-down from Dick.) He made a beeline for the sofa, and retook his perch. Less rigid this time, though. Let himself sit back and melt into the cushions.

And when Dick sat next to him, Damian immediately curled into his side, like it was the only place he wanted to be.

"I want peppers on the pizza. With pepperoni." Damian demanded as Dick flopped an arm around his back. "And I'll accept pineapple if you wanted it. And breadsticks."

Dick smiled, ruffling Damian’s hair as he stared down at his open, unmasked face, dialing the restaurant.

"Sure thing, kiddo."


End file.
